I F*cked Around and Found Out – By Lewis Martin
Nobody really tells you what it means to be a parent. They just give you that slow, knowing smile when you announce you’re having a baby, the one that says, “We’ll pray for you.”
Parenting is like joining a secret society that doesn’t believe in sleep, peace, or privacy.
I had my two, Charlie (5) and Kergi (3), when I was still figuring out how to be an adult. Honestly, I f***ed around and found out. Twice.
When people heard we were expecting another one before I even hit 30, their reactions were comedic gold. You could see it in their faces, that polite smile with eyes screaming, “Bro… again?” Someone even said, “You’re brave,” which we all know is code for ‘You didn’t think this through.
And honestly, they weren’t wrong. We were two young people raising two younger people. We got started before we even finished being babies ourselves. Parenting between two young adults is like a group project where no one read the manual, but you’re all still getting graded.
It took me a while to even realize I was the parent, not a cool, part-time uncle, but the real parent who signs report forms, packs snacks, and pays school fees on time. I used to think ‘dad’ was just a title. Turns out, it’s a full-time identity, and sometimes a full-time comedy show.
Parenting in your 30s is no joke. You’re trying to build your career, hold your relationship together, and raise two little humans who think you exist purely to open snacks and fix Wi-Fi. Some days, I’m the calm, patient dad you’d see in a family advert. Other days, I stand outside the door for a few seconds before walking in, just breathing, because I know what kind of chaos I’m about to meet.
I work mostly from home, which sounds like a blessing, and it is, in theory. People say, “Wow, you must love spending so much time with your kids.” And I do. I really do. But also… I see everything. I see all the chaos firsthand. The fights, the spills, the random screaming matches over a toy no one even liked ten minutes ago. I’ve become a part-time referee, part-time therapist, and full-time cleaner.
They’ve repainted my walls in crayon. My once-special chair? Gone. Ripped, doodled on, jumped on. They’ve written on the seats, on the floor, on each other. At this point, I’m convinced the house is just a giant art project they haven’t finished yet. I used to have a colour palette for the living room, now it’s ‘abstract toddler.’
Sometimes I’ll look around and wonder if I live in a house or a low-budget cartoon. Cups upside down, cushions missing, toys everywhere. I have come to realize that peace and quiet are suspicious. In this house, silence means trouble is loading.
But still, I’m the hands-on dad. I show up at school unannounced to ‘check on progress.’ Teachers know me by name. The mum? She’s the mysterious one who appears at graduations, like a Marvel post-credits cameo.
She’s the real MVP though. She’s got this parenting thing down to an art. She just knows what the kids need, no panic, no manual, no stress. I’d be Googling ‘how to get a 3-year-old to eat broccoli’ and she’d just walk in, say one word, and suddenly everyone’s eating. She’ll leave me with them for a few hours already knowing exactly what she’ll find when she comes back: chaos. Someone crying, someone naked, toys in the fridge, and me pretending I had everything under control. She’s structure. I’m vibes.
We’ve had to learn how to parent together, two young people, still figuring out life, raising two smaller humans who have zero chill. There’s no clear division of labour, no guidebook, just teamwork and trial runs. Some days it’s a rhythm. Other days it’s two amateurs winging it. But we keep learning, keep adjusting, keep choosing each other.
At some point, I made a mistake I didn’t even realize. I thought being a father and being a husband were two separate jobs, like they existed in different lanes. I thought I could be a great dad even if I was half-present as a husband. But it doesn’t work like that.
It took things almost boiling over for me to understand that being a good father starts with being a good husband. One feeds into the other. The peace at home, the tone of your relationship, it all trickles down to the kids. When we’re off, even the kids feel it. When we’re solid, the whole house breathes easier.
I’ve had my struggles with that. Still do. But I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m just a man trying to figure out how to love better while leading better. No manual, just mistakes and grace.
And as for the kids, they’re chaos personified. Loud, emotional, unpredictable, hilarious. But they also remind me of my contradictions. When we go to the children’s park, Charlie runs straight in, fearless. Kergi stands back, watches, and warms up slowly. Watching them, I see myself. I’m both of them, the cautious and the bold, the quiet and the loud, the one who jumps and the one who hesitates.
They destroy things and still manage to teach me something new every day. They test my patience and stretch my heart at the same time. Parenting doesn’t fix your flaws, it exposes them. It shows you the parts of yourself that you’ve been hiding from. You start realizing your kids don’t just learn from you, they reveal you. The good, the bad, and the half-asleep.
Working from home has made me face all of it. Every tantrum, every meltdown, every mess; and it’s all a mirror. It’s also a privilege. I get to be present in a way my own dad probably couldn’t. I get to see them grow, fail, fight, make up, and figure out the world, all in real time.
And through all of it, I pray. A lot. Not fancy prayers, just the desperate, whispered kind.
God, help me not to mess this up
God, make me patient
God, do them a world of good
Charlie and Kergi have become my daily prayer points. I pray they grow up kind, confident, and unshakably themselves.
I’ve got big dreams for them. I want them to laugh loudly, live boldly, and know they’re loved beyond measure. I want them to look back and say, “Yeah, Dad was a little chaotic, but he showed up.”
Would I do it all again, have kids that young? Let’s just say… I’d think longer next time. But then again, I look at them and I know, even if I didn’t plan it perfectly, it still turned out perfectly mine.
So yeah, I f***ed around and found out. Found out parenting is hard. Found out marriage and fatherhood are inseparable. Found out working from home means living inside the storm. Found out kids will destroy your walls and your favorite chair, and somehow still fill your life with meaning.
Maybe that’s the real story, not about being perfect, but about showing up anyway. Because in the middle of the mess, the noise, the love, and the prayers, I found myself too.
The best part about being a parent is the moment you realize you wouldn't want your life any other way
John Wooden
Lewis Martin is a father of two and a fintech guy by trade; a man learning, unlearning and relearning what it means to show up every day.
A writer who lost his pen somewhere along the way, he’s slowly finding his words again in the chaos of parenting, the grind of work, and all the other moments that hold it all together.
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